


All Hail Mistress Hale

by OmeletteAche



Category: North and South (UK TV), North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell, North and South - Elizabeth Gaskell | UK TV
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Caning, F/M, Femdom, Pain, Painplay, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:53:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22098229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OmeletteAche/pseuds/OmeletteAche
Summary: Margaret is a domme on the hunt for a well-behaved sub. Will she find one?
Relationships: Margaret Hale & John Thornton, Margaret Hale/John Thornton
Comments: 11
Kudos: 41





	1. First Impressions

Margaret was bored. Every few weeks she would make a visit to "Incubus", the very exclusive BDSM dungeon of which she was a member. She’d always enter full of hope that there’d be a new face, someone that would interest her. But it looked like tonight would be a failure. The club’s main entrance room, in which she sat, was decorated in enigmatic shades of dark blue, and was mostly occupied by a few regulars she knew by face but not by name. She shifted on her bar stool, as she caught sight of her friend Beryl entering the room. Two attractive male slaves, presumably belonging to Beryl, followed on all fours just behind her. Beryl was also a domme, and a good one, and she looked the part - Sleek black bob, latex suit fitted to perfection, and killer heels, that she didn’t struggle to walk in. Margaret herself usually dressed in business casual attire in the dungeon, but had always admired Beryl’s commitment to the aesthetic. Never had Margaret seen her with a hair out of place or her makeup anything but perfect. But to be fair, Beryl had made domming her career and Margaret worked full time as a theatre nurse. When she wanted to dominate, she wanted it to be for pleasure. 

“Darling. So good to see you,” purred Beryl, as she kissed Margaret on both cheeks. “ I haven’t seen you in aaaages.” She gestured to the men at her feet. “These two keep me so busy, you wouldn’t believe.”

“I was about to give up and go home. If it weren’t for you, this would have been a wasted visit,” replied Margaret, ruefully, scanning the room again. “No new blood. Except for those who came with someone. She gestured to a beautiful red-haired man, leashed and sitting on his haunches next to a tall, blonde woman.

Beryl sighed, and nodded. “Too true. But do not lose hope, darling. Your subby prince will come. Hopefully multiple times in quick succession.” She winked, and Margaret rolled her eyes playfully in response. “Besides, it’s been ages since you’ve taken on a sub. You kicked Henry to the curb over a year ago now.” 

“I know, but I just haven’t found the right person that I click with, you know?”

Beryl look thoughtful and then perked up in excitement. “Actually, I have friend coming this evening. Who knows, you might like him. Good looking.” 

“So is he new to the lifestyle, or…”

“Not exactly.”

“And why haven’t you taken him on?” asked Margaret, now suspicious.

“Well, as you can see, all my slots are already filled,” Beryl replied, gesturing down to the two men kneeling at her feet, and raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Besides, he’s not what I would call well trained…yet. I just don’t have the time, with these two to manage.” Margaret groaned inwardly; she wasn’t interested in training. “Ah, speak of the devil -- John! Darling!” 

Margaret looked up to see a man approaching them. Beryl stood up, and gave him a quick hug. Margaret took the opportunity to look him over -- tall, well built, dark hair, and a strong boned face, with a heavy brow and nose. He was dressed in casual clothes: T-shirt, jeans and a leather jacket. Margaret had to admit he was good to look at, but she was looking for something more than a pretty face and a fit body.  
Beryl introduced them. “This is my friend, Margaret. Margaret, this is John.” 

He smiled, looking Margaret in the eyes, and took her hand in a handshake. His hand was large and warm, and almost engulfed her hand. 

“Margaret is looking for a new sub.” Beryl added, pointedly. Margaret flashed a look of annoyance at her friend, which was returned by a playful wink from Beryl.

“Is that so? “asked John, looking at Margaret in interest, and cocking an eyebrow. “Any chance I might qualify for the position?”. His voice was pleasantly deep, and his last few words had the hint of a growl to them.

“Beryl’s right, I am looking,” she replied, evenly. “However, I’m looking for a more experienced sub. Someone who already knows their place and can follow orders. No offense.”

“None taken. So you don’t enjoy a challenge?” he replied, a cheeky smile on his lips. 

Margaret immediately bristled. This type of cocky remark might be common-place in a normal bar, but as a sub to a domme, it was highly disrespectful, and she wasn’t about to dignify him with a response. She spoke to Beryl instead. “I understand he’s your friend, but what on earth possessed you to bring him here? He’s completely unsuited to being a sub. No respect at all.” 

Before Beryl had a chance to respond, John piped up. “I’m sorry, truly. I wasn’t thinking. Please, if you give me a chance, you won’t regret it.” Margaret pressed her lips together and looked over at Beryl, who shrugged. 

“My subs always apologise on their knees,” Margaret replied, coolly, testing him.

There was a brief pause, as if he were trying to see if she were joking. But he did bend, first onto one knee and then both, his blue eyes meeting hers. “My subs don't get to look at me without my permission.” He bent his head, presenting a contrite looking picture. There was something about the sight of him that made her feel…excited, for the first time in a long time, but she was not about to let that show. 

“Fine, I’ll take you on. But on a probationary basis only. You may address me as Miss Hale. And you may look up now.” 

And he did, meeting her eyes with an intensity she hadn’t experienced before. “Yes, Miss Hale. Thank you.”

“If you would like, you may proceed to Room 5 at the back. We can see what you are made of.” She gestured to an engraved wooden door that led to the private rooms. As a member of the club, she could use the rooms a certain amount of times per month.

“Yes, Miss Hale.” And he unfurled his large body from the floor and with a backwards look, headed to the door, closing it behind him.

Margaret finally let out a huff of air, as if she needed a breather, and looked over at Beryl. “What have you gotten me into?”

Beryl chuckled. “Don’t worry about his attitude. You can handle it.”

“But… the size of him! How will I control him?!”

Beryl cocked her head in acquiescence. “You know what they say --- size doesn’t matter… don’t judge a book by its cover… the bigger they are, they harder they fall? Pick a platitude. Besides, how would it feel to have such a big hulking specimen completely under your power?”

Margaret took a long, deep breath, and then turned to the door that led to the private rooms. “Wish me luck, B.”

“You don’t need it, darling.”


	2. Examinations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margaret and John size each other up.

Room 5 was one of the smaller private rooms, but one of Margaret’s favourites. The walls were a midnight blue, complemented by varnished wood floors. There was a large closet, a bar-fridge and a chest of drawers, which Margaret knew contained toys of all descriptions, as well as any other amenities that might be needed. A leather padded bench sat on one side, on which John waited for her. She was sure she had detected some boyish nervousness on his face as she had walked in, but this expression was quickly with one more composed and self-assured.

“John, I would like to begin with a few questions.”

“Yes, Miss Hale,” he replied.

“As your domme, I expect you to obey me in this room, and to submit to what I require of you. But first we need to iron out some details. You aren’t new to the lifestyle?

“Not completely new, no. But I’ve only recently decided to try submission.”

“You were a dom?” Margaret couldn’t pretend to be surprised.

“Yes, but not… it didn’t feel completely right.”

Margaret decided not to dig. “What is your safeword?”

He shrugged. “I don’t need one.” But reading Margaret’s stern and steely expression, he continued, “Just in case, we can use the traffic light system. ‘Red’ for stop and ‘Yellow’ for slow down, ‘Green’ for continue.”

“Great. And if you can’t speak, you can tap three times to stop. With your hands or… feet.” Her eyes travelled down the length of his legs to his feet. Good grief, there was a lot of him. And then looking back up she met his eyes. She drew herself together, and doubled down. “ I don’t know you, John, so I’m really trusting you to use the safe word if you feel out of your depth at any point.” 

He nodded.

“Any medical issues I should know about?”

He shook his head.

“What are your hard limits?”

He frowned. “Nothing illegal. And no breath play.” Margaret was not surprised; real breath play could be very dangerous. Beryl had known someone who had died that way. “You’re fine with pain, I assume?”

He nodded.

“Good. You can take your clothes off now. I want to have a good look at you.” There was no point denying it at this point. His lips turned up in a tiny smile which she saw him repress. 

“Yes , Miss Hale.” He bent down, untying his laces, and removing his socks and shoes, neatly placing them under the bench, followed by tugging off his T-shirt. 

“Slower.” 

He took his time removing his belt and unbuttoning his jeans and then tugged them off.

“You can leave those on. For now,” she said, pointing to his boxer briefs. Partially undressed, he was gorgeous, and that was to say nothing of what his underwear was doing its best to conceal. Margaret noted that he had not lost his confident air, unfortunately. It was almost as if he was enjoying this. “Turn for me, John.”   
He did as she asked, rotating slowly, so that she could survey his entire body. Broad shoulders, taut waist, well-muscled ass, and he had definitely not skipped leg day at the gym. Margaret approved whole-heartedly.

“Very nice. I think I prefer you without your clothes.”

“I’d love to see you without yours,” he replied, his burning-hot gaze scanning over her figure.

Margaret stiffened and blinked in surprise, but was determined to keep her cool. This was exactly why she had wanted someone more experienced. “That kind of impertinent comment isn’t welcome.”

John must have realised his mistake, as he dropped to his knees almost immediately. “I beg your pardon. I meant no disrespect.”

Margaret sighed. “Beryl said you aren’t well trained yet. She was right, you have some work ahead of you.” He gave her a lopsided apologetic half-smile. Margaret couldn’t help being charmed, as frustrating as she was finding him. She gave her neck and shoulders a roll and a wriggle; they felt tight and tense – not a good state to be in before starting a scene. “I’ll tell you what… if you can behave yourself, you can give me a shoulder rub before we start with your punishment.” 

“Yes please, Miss Hale.”

She sat down on the leather bench and moved her hair to the front, while he got off his knees and stood behind her-- so close she could feel the heat pour off his body. He smelled amazing-- like pine needles and sandlewood, and Margaret had to resist the urge to lean back into him and inhale deeper. He slowly ran his thumbs lightly up and down either side of her spine, into the nape of her neck, and then down onto her shoulders – applying gentle pressure with the heels of his hands just above her shoulder blades, and then firmly rubbing the muscle knots with his thumbs. Margaret let the feeling of bliss flow over her as her muscles began to finally relax.  
“Thank you. Very good, John.” Her gave her a smile in response that was almost shy. She wriggled her shoulders around, revelling in how much looser they felt. “I think it’s time we began.”


	3. Mirror, Mirror

“Where would you like me, Miss Hale?” It was music to Margaret’s ears – A deep, masculine voice with a submissive undercurrent. She felt her heart beat a little faster.

“Lie down on the bench. I’m going to restrain you,” she replied, keeping her voice cool and calm, despite the energy that was fizzing in her veins. 

He did as she asked, lying flat on the bench, which was only just long enough for his body. She reached for the leather cuff restraints which were attached by chained to a ring beneath the bench. The chains were adjustable length, but Margaret kept them at their full length so John would not be tightly chained for their first time. He would still be able to move his arms, but he would not be able to fully get up from the bench. John offered up his wrists to her, and she couldn’t help noticing how his hands dwarfed her own as she buckled him into the restraints.

Margaret felt a rush of anticipation as she stood back to admire her handiwork. Perfect - he looked like a lamb to the slaughter. Well, perhaps not exactly like a lamb, more like a lion.  
She went to the mini-fridge, and fumbled around the freezer section, eventually finding the ice-cubes she had been looking for.  
“We need to fully sensitise you before we begin your real punishment,” she said as she returned, showing John an ice-cube. He nodded, his face still calm.  
She stood over him, drinking in the sight of him, and began to slowly draw circles over his chest with the ice cube, leaving behind a wet trail, which quickly began to evaporate from his heated skin. His chest erupted into goosebumps and the hairs on his chest and arms stood on end. He tipped his head back, his eyes closed; clearly, he was enjoying the sensation. Margaret then drew the ice down on his stomach and back up to his chest where she drew circles back up towards his collarbone and she heard a hitch in his breath as the last of the ice block melted.  
“Are you ready for your punishment, John?” He opened his eyes and nodded, his gaze intense. Margaret walked to the cupboard to retrieve a thin riding crop, and came back and brushed the tip of the crop across his collarbone. “This is for your insolent behaviour earlier. I’m going to strike you 10 times.” She could feel her body thrumming with adrenaline. She began lightly, merely flicking the crop lightly over his chest. “One.” He remained impassive. She continued. “Two…Three… Four.” These blows were slightly harder, smacking the pale undersides of his arm, creating pink splotches. She could see on his face that he was desperate for more stimulation, more pain, but she was determined not to give it to him.

He let out a breath. “Harder, please, Miss Hale.”

Margaret felt a bubbling rise of frustration, not for the first time in the night. She was used to well-behaved submissives and his presumptive attitude had already gotten a rise out of her. She took a deep breath and willed herself not to lose her temper. “Don’t tell me what to do. I don’t let my submissives top from the bottom,” she said, as calmly as she could manage. Their eyes met, and she could tell that he was suppressing the urge to talk back. “Five… six… seven” she continued with the blows, now moving back to his chest.

“Harder, “ he gasped.

Margaret felt her blood boiling. She knew that he was testing her patience, and in that moment she had lost. In one swift move she dropped the crop and slapped him across the face. The slap wasn’t very hard, and the graze of his stubble against her palm probably hurt her more than him, but she was surprised at her own overreaction. His blue eyes met hers as he stared at her defiantly.

“Is that all you’ve got, Miss Hale?” he said, a slight smirk on his face.  
She could feel control slipping out of her fingers. She did the only thing that had always worked on her subs before – with one hand, she lightly grabbed him around the throat, just below his jaw. Her intent was quick, sharp reminder of who was in charge. But this time it didn’t work. She saw a flash of panic in his eyes for a split-second, before she heard the thrash of his chains, and then her wrist was caught in his grasp as he pulled her hand away from his throat. His grip was not painfully tight, but it was firm, and she was completely unable to move her arm.

Their eyes locked, his expression unreadable. A second or two passed, although it felt like much longer, before he loosened his grip, and she removed her wrist. She stepped back, collecting herself. John was covered in a sheen of sweat that hadn’t been there only a minute before. She met his eyes again, but this time, his pupils were the size of pinpricks, and his whole body seemed to be vibrating almost imperceptibly. Something was not right.  
“John, would you like to safe-word?”

“Green.” he replied, his voice steely cold.

Margaret suddenly felt all the energy drain out of her body. “I don’t care if you won’t safe-word. I’m done. We’re done.” She reached to unbuckle his wrists, but he instinctively jerked away from her touch. “Are you okay?” she asked, now concerned.

“I’m fine.” His shallow breathing belied his words, but he offered up his wrist and she removed the restraint. Once his hand was free, he fumbled to remove the other. “I’m sorry about grabbing you like that. I hope… I hope I didn’t scare you,” he said.

“You didn’t. Scare me, I mean. But what happened?”

He shook his head. “I have to go. I’m sorry.” He could barely meet her eyes as he pulled on his jeans and T-shirt, and with his shoes and jacket in hand he walked out the door.

Margaret sat on the bench, still stunned. Her mind was a whirling mess. What the hell had just happened? Why had she lost control so badly? Why had he grabbed her, and why didn’t he safe-word?

She made her way out of the room, but by the time she got back to the main entrance room of “Incubus”, there was no sign of John. 

Beryl was still there, still flanked by her two slaves. She finished petting one of them before noticing Margaret, and gave her a confused look. “Darling, what happened? I just saw John book it out of here half-dressed. Did your session not go well?” Beryl asked.

“Not fantastic,” Margaret replied with a grimace. “He was giving me too much attitude, I completely overreacted, and I lost control of the scene. It all went downhill from there."

Beryl nodded sympathetically. “Sorry to hear. And I’m sorry that I set you two up."

“Don’t be. It was going really well, until it wasn’t. It’s not your fault things went a pear shaped,” Margaret replied. Beryl looked confused at this, so Margaret explained further .“I grabbed him under the jaw. Like this.” She copied her earlier action, this time on Beryl, who remained completely unfazed. “For some reason that really set him off. ” 

Beryl nodded thoughtfully and then widened her eyes as realisation hit. “ I just remembered -- he told me once – he doesn’t like anything around his neck. I think he has some kind of PTSD or phobia. Something about how his father committed suicide by hanging, I think. And John was the one to find him, with the noose around his neck and everything. I think it was pretty gruesome. He doesn’t do any kind of breath play for that reason.”

Margaret felt her heart drop. “Fuck. He told me not to do breath play. But, I mean, I wasn’t actually going to choke him. Not that he would know that.” Margaret felt terrible; she couldn’t help chastising herself that she should have been more careful with someone who she had never even met before. He’d just gotten under her skin like no one else had.

Beryl sighed and gave Margaret a gentle hug. “Don’t feel bad. It was a mistake. And he should have told you. Or safe-worded. Or something.”  
Margaret nodded but still felt wretched and exhausted. The only things that would help her now were chocolate, a hot shower and a good night’s sleep. She bid Beryl goodnight and headed home.


	4. Peace and Quiet

It had been a month since Margaret’s last visit to “Incubus”, but she couldn’t stop thinking about John, though it was hard to pinpoint exactly how she felt. She had gotten his number from Beryl, but she hadn’t called; she wasn’t sure what she would even say.

Beryl, trying to make her feel better, had done her a favour and sent her two slaves to Margaret’s apartment to spring-clean. “Nothing like a hot man or two to boss around to make you feel on top of your game again.” she’d said. Margaret’s small apartment was sparkling now. Dane and Matthew had been on hands and knees scrubbing every inch of the shower grouting, and she could tell they had loved every moment of it. It had been fun to give them a talking to for missing a speck of dust on the lintel and paddling them for leaving a watermark on the window, but ultimately it was unsatisfying. She couldn’t help thinking how much she’d rather be ordering John around, even if he was a handful. Once the two men had left, she messaged Beryl to tell her what a good job they’d done.

“That’s fantastic, Darling. I told them to be extra well behaved. I hope you were strict with them – I don’t want them coming back spoiled,” Beryl texted back, giving Margaret a chuckle. 

“See you tonight for girl’s night,” she replied.

An hour later, Margaret was getting ready to go to Beryl’s, when she got another message. “Girl’s night cancelled. I’m an idiot. Managed to slip in the shower and throw my back out.”

Margaret replied, concerned, but her message remained unread. It was hard not to worry, and she tried to call Beryl, with no answer. Margaret couldn’t shake her anxiety – Beryl lived alone after all, and Margaret, after much indecisiveness, decided to visit Beryl’s apartment to check on her. Fifteen minutes later she was knocking on Beryl’s swanky apartment door, feeling slightly foolish for making the trip – perhaps Beryl would feel annoyed at her over-protectiveness. Just as she was about to give up entirely, the door opened, and John was standing in the doorway.

“Hi.” said Margaret, feeling completely startled.

“Hi” he replied, looking about as flustered as she felt. “Come in.” He was wearing dark jeans and a deep blue sweater that matched his eyes, and he looked even more gorgeous than the last time Margaret had seen him, if that was even possible. 

Margaret walked inside, her mind reeling. “What …” She paused, trying to find a better way to phrase the question, then abandoned it entirely for another question. “Where is Beryl?”

“She’s in bed.” Then seeing Margaret’s puzzled expression, he continued hastily. “She slipped in the shower, and put her back out. I heard her screaming like a banshee, so I came downstairs .” Seeing Margaret’s continued confusion, he clarified. “I live in the apartment upstairs, that’s how Beryl and I know each other. I came down to find her sprawled out on the bathroom floor. She wasn’t in any shape to walk or drive so I had to get her to the hospital. They said she’s going to be fine. I’m just here to finish up some of her chores that she couldn’t get to tonight.” He gave Margaret a tentative smile.

“You’re a good friend.” Margaret couldn’t help feeling a warm sense of gratitude.

He shrugged, embarrassed. “She would have done the same for me.”

“Wait, did you have to help her get dressed and carry her to the car?”  
He nodded.

“Then she absolutely would not have done the same thing for you-- only because she wouldn’t have been able to,” Margaret joked.  
He chuckled in acquiescence.

“So, you say she’s in bed?” Margaret asked, heading through the open plan kitchen area to Beryl’s bedroom.

He nodded.“She’s asleep. The doctor gave her some good painkillers, but he said she just needs some rest. I think I heard some snoring earlier. Don’t tell her I said that.” 

Margaret smiled in response, and peeked through the crack in the door to see Beryl fast asleep in her large, elaborate bed. “I’m glad she’s okay. I was just so worried when she didn’t answer when I phoned,” she said. Margaret was finding John hard to read; he had none of the cocky air that had frustrated her so much at 'Incubus’, but right now she couldn’t tell if he was uncomfortable with her presence. 

Beryl’s cat, Marquis, appeared from behind the kitchen counter and sidled up to John, rubbing against his legs and purring loudly. He grinned. “This little fellow probably also wants feeding.” He ducked down behind the kitchen counter and fetched some kibble which he poured into the cat’s bowl. 

Margaret felt strange seeing him so comfortable in a place that she herself was so familiar. She suddenly felt extremely awkward and out of place. “Well, I guess there’s no need for me to stick around, “ she said, and headed back in the direction of the entryway.

“Don’t go,” he said. He winced and corrected himself. “Sorry. I meant ‘before you go’. I just wanted to apologise for how I left things the other night. It was not my finest moment.”

She turned to look at him. “And I’m sorry about grabbing you round the neck without warning. I didn’t know. Beryl told me that you…don’t like it. I feel awful.” 

He shook his head. He looked about as comfortable as someone getting a root canal. “That was completely my mistake. I should have said something, but I thought I was over it. I was being stubborn. I should have safeworded. That was *my* fuck up. Besides that, my whole attitude was wrong the whole night. Talking back, giving directions, that was pure ego and stupidity.”

“You were a *huge* pain in the ass” Margaret replied, her tone playful. John gave a snort of surprised laughter at her bluntness and she couldn’t help giggling along with him.

“So, John, what was it that drew you to submission?” she asked, now serious again. “Or are you just a painslut, who just wants a pretty girl to beat you black and blue?”

“Ooof. Damn” he replied, with an uncomfortable chuckle. “Not sure I’d like to be put in that box. Yes, the pain is a big part of it. But I’ve wanted to try submission for a long time. It’s something I’ve always been drawn to because I admire the inner strength it takes to give over control. I own and run a factory and it’s a lot of responsibility…” He paused and frowned as if trying to think of how to explain.

“And a lot of people count on you. You want a break from having to be in control all the time,” she finished for him.

He nodded. “But submitting was harder than I thought it would be. It felt good, but…” He frowned again.

“Also uncomfortable and scary?” she asked.

He gave her a nod and a lopsided grin. ”I think I must be the worst sub in history.”

Margaret shrugged. “I don’t know about that. You definitely have some potential. For one thing, you give an A+ shoulder rub. Plus, you know how to take pain. And you look as hot as Hades when you’re down on your knees,” she said, meeting his gaze.

He arched an eyebrow and grinned. “So, does that mean you’ll give me another chance, Miss Hale?”

“I’ll consider it. How about you meet me at Incubus on Friday and we’ll see.” she replied, coyly.


	5. Take Me To Church

Friday night arrived and Margaret walked through the black lacquer doors of “Incubus” feeling like a million bucks. She was dressed to the nines: tight leather skirt, fitted top that showed off just a hint of cleavage, and a pair of brand new pumps. She was not in the mood to play games tonight.  
The entrance room was fuller than usual, but it didn’t take her long to see John standing on the other side of the room at the bar, engaged in conversation with a tall, blonde woman. It was the first time that Margaret had seen him dressed up, and she liked it-- he was wearing a burgundy shirt paired with dark slacks. He looked up and spotted her, and a smile crept on his face. Margaret felt a rush of butterflies in her stomach, but tamped them down and strode over to him. The blonde woman by his side must have read Margaret’s mind, for she excused herself as soon as she saw her coming.   
Margaret leant up against the bar and watched the other woman walk away. “I hope you were behaving, John,” she said, a hint of playfulness in her voice.

“Of course. I told her I already have a Mistress.” He gave her a smirk.

“Very good. I’m glad to see you here tonight.” 

“Does that mean you have plans for me, Miss Hale?”

She looked him up and down, drinking in the sight of him. “Most definitely.”

He arched an eyebrow. “And may I ask what they involve?” 

“I plan to cane you into oblivion“ she replied, bluntly. 

His eyebrows shot up, and his smile widened into a grin --- he looked like a starving man at a feast. Margaret continued, “and remember that you are to keep your cocky tongue to yourself tonight. I want no backtalk or impertinence.” 

“Understood. In that case, may I say one last thing before we start?”

“You may,” she replied, narrowing her eyes and wondering if she was going to regret her decision.

He leaned over, closing the distance between them. “You look so fucking gorgeous tonight, it’s ridiculous.” A hint of a growl entered his voice.

Margaret repressed a smile. “Thank you, John. That’ll do. Now go and wait for me in Room 4.”

He nodded and turned and disappeared behind the carved wooden doors that led to the private rooms.  
Margaret sat down at the bar, ordered a soda and sipped slowly – all the better to keep him waiting and on his toes. After a few minutes, she followed him to Room 4. The room was a little bigger than the others, but included ] similar furniture and amenities. It was painted in a deep oxblood colour, and included two wrist restraints hanging from chains bolted into the ceiling.   
Margaret came into the room, and John was already undressed to his underwear, and kneeling on the floor with his head bowed. She felt her heart skip a beat. Good gods, he was beautiful. “Very nice, John. You may look up at me now.” He met her gaze, and she felt like she might melt on the spot. But she wouldn’t be soft with him tonight. She straightened her spine as she stood in front of him; his head still reached to her chest height. “Just to make sure we are on the same page tonight, John -- what will you say when I’m caning you and you can’t bear the pain anymore?” It was a question phrased to test him. She knew he would not like to admit to what he perceived as weakness.

There was a flicker of indignation in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced with a look of firm resolve. “My safeword, Miss Hale.”

“Which is?”

“Red, Miss Hale.”

“Good. And what will you say if I tell you that I’m going to touch your neck?

“Red, Miss Hale.” His face was expressionless.

“That’s a good boy.” 

He looked up and smiled at her with such genuine pleasure at her praise, that she felt an unexpected wave of affection and couldn’t help but reach down to ruffle his hair. “Did anyone ever tell you that you can be quite cute when you want to be?” she asked, thoroughly charmed.

“Not in recent memory,” he replied, chuckling.

She smiled in response, and then straightened up again, doing her best impression of a strict schoolteacher. “Well it’s not going to help you tonight, because I’m still going to give you the caning of your life. But since you like pain so much, think of it as a privilege rather than a punishment. “  
He nodded; his face serious. It was serious business, after all. That was why Margaret had chosen the cane as her instrument of torture tonight -- even someone her size could inflict a lot of pain with minimal effort.  
“I want you to fetch your cane from the cupboard. I bought a brand new one,” she said. John stood up and went to fetch the cane as she asked. She watched him as he did so, for he was a delight to watch, and for his size he was surprisingly graceful -- it was like watching a panther. He handed her the rattan cane, and she grasped it, her fingertips tingling in anticipation. “Now kneel for me over there.” She pointed to a mat, below which the chained restraints hung from the ceiling.

He did as she requested, and she followed him to the mat and stood in front of him again. “Arms up,” she ordered. He obeyed. She buckled each of his wrists into the hanging restraints. With his arms raised and extended it left his whole torso exposed– a beautiful sight. Margaret felt a rush of power fill her veins --- now *this* was why she loved to dominate. Her gaze flickered over him unapologetically. “You look good enough to eat,” she said. He repressed a grin, and, she thought, a cheeky comment. “But are you comfortable?” she asked.  
He nodded.  
She ran her fingers from his left hand and trailed them down his arm to his shoulder. He didn’t stir but his eyes followed her movements. She heard a sharp intake of breath as she reached his collar bone, but he remained still, trusting her not to get any closer to his neck. Instead she moved her hand down onto his chest, running her fingertips through his chest hair. There was something incredibly freeing about being able to touch him as she pleased -- it was her way of marking his body as belonging to her. She ran her fingers down towards his ribs, and he gave a slight, almost imperceptible, twitch. Margaret smiled to herself – he must be ticklish there– she would keep that in mind for another day.

She moved her hand to the back of his head, and gently grasped a handful of his hair and pulled back at the roots slightly, so that he was forced to look up at her. “John, I’m going to begin with your caning. But I’m not going to tell you for how long. You don’t know how hard I might push you -- so I want you to bear that in mind before you start to beg for me to go harder on you. You have no control here.” She released his hair from her grasp, and he nodded, his penetrating gaze meeting hers. Tonight though, there was no defiance brewing in his eyes; she could tell that he had understood her. “You’re behaving yourself tonight. It must be a Christmas miracle in July,” she noted, not able to resist teasing him. But still his ego didn’t rise to her bait. 

“Yes, Miss Hale,” he replied, sweetly.

Margaret was loving this new, obedient John. She slowly circled him, getting a good look of him from all angles, finally stopping just behind him, to his side, where she had of view of both the side of his face and back. She held the cane in her right hand and very gently started tapping on his back with it, just a light pattering, starting just below his shoulders and rotating around the surface of his upper back. These taps would only give him a light stinging sensation, she knew, but she was preparing him for the real blows to come. Usually Margaret’s subs were relaxed at this point, enjoying the gentle play. In contrast, John shifted around uncomfortably. She knew, without asking, that he was growing impatient for the real caning to begin. Unlike their last encounter at the club, however, he didn’t say a word, having learned his lesson. The skin on his back was now turning from marble white to slightly pink. Margaret placed her hand on his skin, and could feel it was a little warmer to the touch. He was ready.  
She began to rhythmically flick the cane against his skin in parallel strokes across his upper back, carefully avoiding his spine. She knew from experience this would smart, but it was a bearable level of pain for most of her previous subs. John was perfectly still, and the only sound was his slow, even breath. 

Margaret began interspersing the flicks with harder blows. She knew these were really painful, but he remained stoic as thin wheals formed on his skin. She continued, increasing the intensity of the strikes. He made no sound but the muscles on his back began to twitch and flicker and she detected a hitch in his breath after the heavier blows. She still had a view of the side of his face, and saw his brows knitted in concentration and his lips pressed firmly together. A light sheen of sweat covered him, and swollen welts began to cover his upper back. Dark red bruises already bloomed beneath the skin. Usually at this point, her sub would be yelping in pain. “You don’t have to be silent,” she said, a little perplexed at his lack of reaction. He still made no sound at the next strike of her cane, instead he gritted his teeth, clearly refusing to be bowed. But she wouldn’t let him off so easy. The next time she swung her arm with real force, the cane made a loud crack as it connected with him, and he grunted --a guttural sound that seemed to have originated in his solar plexus. The salty smell of fresh sweat and his cologne filled the room. Margaret swung again with full power, but he was expecting it this time and his jaw was set in determination. Nevertheless, Margaret could tell he was taking strain, and they still had a while to go -- she didn’t want to wear him out prematurely. 

“We’re going to take a break.” she said. He nodded, staring straight ahead. ”Do you want me to unbuckle you?” He shook his head. Clearly at this point he wasn’t in the headspace for conversation. She went to fetch a bottle of soda from the mini-fridge, and held it for him as he drank, like she was a boxing coach giving her prize-fighter a drink between rounds. He looked the part of a boxer too, his face ruddy and sweating, and she felt just as proud of him as if she were really his coach. “You’re doing so well, John. Really well. ” It wasn’t only his ability to handle her thrashing that impressed her – it was also his willingness to finally let go of his ego. “Ready to continue?” she asked. 

He nodded. She set down the bottle and began her assault with the cane again. His eyes were closed shut and she knew that the blows over the already-inflamed welts must be excruciating. His breathing became ragged, and his head bent forward, sweat dripping off his nose and chin. He was no longer fighting the pain, or trying to control his reaction, he was fully submitting to it, and to her. She found herself falling into the repetitive rhythm of the blows, and losing track of time as she succumbed completely to the present moment. Five minutes seemed to last an hour – or perhaps it was the other way around. The outside world melted away, and it was just her and him together; almost as if they were one being. She started to notice a change in him—the endorphins were beginning to take full effect. His face was relaxed, his eyelids drooped, and he no longer flinched at her blows. She knew he must be in a euphoric state -- just where she wanted him. She finished his beating with three sharp blows at full force, at which he swore at the unexpected onslaught.

She moved to stand in front of him, surveying him: his body sagging from his wrist restraints, his eyes closed and his chest visibly vibrating from his hammering heartbeat. She could tell he was truly and completely spent. Slowly she ran the tip of the cane up his torso. He opened his eyes and she drew the cane tip under his chin so that he was forced to tilt his head up towards her. His eyes were unfocused and hazy, as if he were drugged. “Look at your Mistress, John,” she commanded. He did as she asked, and, with what seemed to be considerable effort, focussed on her face. She dropped the cane, and stroked her fingertips over his chin, revelling in the stubbly sensation, and he leaned his face towards her hand, as if he too were enjoying the feeling. An unfamiliar surge of complete calm and contentedness radiated through Margaret’s body as she looked down on him.

“You’re all done now,” she said, smiling. He nodded, though there seemed to be neither relief nor disappointment in his eyes -- no thought other than the present seemed to be crossing his mind. Margaret unbuckled his restraints slowly, and he flexed and wriggled his hands, and slumped down backwards into a seated position on the mat. Margaret grabbed a face towel and reached to towards him to wipe the sweat off his face. At first, he stiffened, but eventually, after a sharp look from Margaret, he grinned and rolled his eyes, and reluctantly allowed her to do it for him. He looked so endearing, with his face relaxed and his eyes closed, that on impulse she knelt down to kiss him on the cheek. He looked up at her with such a gaze of hunger, it felt nothing but natural when she followed up with a lingering kiss on his lips, which he returned as he wrapped his arms around her.


End file.
